Better Go Soon
by effies-scrapbook
Summary: He had to go soon. But Haymitch just stood there, like he was immobile, and stared at her. She didn't have the heart to tear her eyes away; she felt as if she could swim in grey for the rest of her goddamn life. The air was lighter, indefinitely; her throat was dry and she licked her lips like that'll do her any good. / Hayffie drabble. CF spoilers.


**BETTER GO SOON**

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_AN: I got bored of reading my AP Bio textbook. Soooo…I wrote a little bit of something about our lovely ship :) This is a fleshed out, rewritten part of my long-abandoned story that came to me mid-June. I stopped the story at around 11k words, seeing no point in continuing after I lost motivation and inspiration to write it. However, I did save one part of it, and what you see here is a better and longer version of the original. _

_This takes place towards the end of Catching Fire, about a half-hour before the arena blew up. Haymitch and Effie have an established friendship, and two years ago, they had hooked up after a night of drinking. Okay. Done note. Enjoy :)_

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"You better leave soon," Effie told Haymitch as he prepared to leave for the hovercraft bound to District 13. He gathered his emergency flask of whiskey, tipping it into his mouth before giving it to Effie. She shook it — empty. "Of course," she said, frowning at the lack of content.

"We don't need the escort wasted," he said, strapping his backpack on.

"Oh, but the mentor can be as hammered as he possibly can?"

He gave a lopsided grin. "Who am I again, Princess?"

Effie laughed for the first time in weeks. Still, she was saddened by goodbyes — she never could find any joy in the word — and could not bring herself to look at him. She lifted her hand and set it on his shoulder, gripping at the fabric like it was a lifeline. Her breathing hitched; Effie felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she couldn't cry. Not in front of him. So instead, she swallowed the pain and ran the back of her fingers against the side of his neck. Under any other circumstance, it would be unprofessional, this kind of sentiment. But for now… it felt only right.

"Haymitch… you be safe, okay?" Effie said quietly. She brushed her thumb over the stubble of his cheeks, wondering how long she'd have to go out without him by her side. Her smile fell and her fingers dropped back to his shoulders. Softly, she murmured, "Be safe."

"You too," he returned, his eyes focused intently on hers.

Haymitch placed one hand on her hip, then slowly he snuck that arm around her waist. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, hugging him like this was the last time she'd ever seen him. Because it just might be.

Effie stepped back. She didn't want to allow herself to get hurt more than she should.

He had to go soon. But Haymitch just stood there, like he was immobile, and stared at her. She didn't have the heart to tear her eyes away; she felt as if she could swim in grey for the rest of her goddamn life. The air was lighter, indefinitely; her throat was dry and she licked her lips like that'll do her any good.

No. He better go soon.

Blushing, she started, "So this is goodb—"

Haymitch reached for her and grabbed her towards him. He pulled her closer, closer, closer. Haymitch slanted his lips against hers, and in a second she moved against him, toward him, pressing her body up against his. Infinitely better than anything she's ever tasted, felt, _experienced_, she recuperated, moving her hand to his neck and the other on his cheek. It was an electricity that surged through them simultaneously, clashing at the point in which they met, more potent than a thousand lightening bolts striking at once. An instinct once tamed now primal in their goodbye. A year or two without this contact — his lips, his fingers through her hair — took a toll. The pent up tension sparked. The missing moments came alive. Emotion poured forth. She backed into the wall, him following suit. It was breathtaking. It was amazing.

It was the only way for them to come to terms with just how close to death they might be.

They parted for air, their lips still barely touching. She smiled, burying her head in the crook of his neck. Clearing her throat, she rolled her head to meet his eyes. "You taste like you had too much to drink."

"Very eloquent, Trinket," he laughed, stepping back. "I'm going to miss that."

She hugged her arms around her middle and leaned against the wall for support. "Don't think about coming back for me, Haymitch."

"For you? Oh, wouldn't dream of it." Haymitch nodded his head towards her room. "Now go put on your makeup and shit. Make yourself look pretty for the Capitol."

And without another look back, he turned on his heels and walked away from what could possibly be the last memory either of them had of the other.

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